


Curiosity

by Steena



Series: Closer 'verse [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Barricade is frustrated, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Humor, Jazz is dangerous, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Using part of a gun as a dildo, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 15:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: "So, is it jus' phone sex ye're after, or didya think 'bout hookin' up 'n' fuckin' fer real?"Barricade did save Jazz's comm. He never intended to use it, but when the alternatives are limited and inadequate and his curiosity and downright need is getting the better of him?What's a pretty little Mustang to do?Takes place after Closer, an alternate continuance not related to Consequence.





	Curiosity

It was getting frustrating. The heat was long over, but the experiences remained a tantalizing memory. The way his frame had been set alight, the staggering pleasure he'd experienced... it left him  _wanting_.

Eager to explore his newfound interest for having his valve stimulated, Barricade resorted to self service.  _A lot_  of self service. He quickly found how to use his digits to stimulate his anterior node and several nodes inside. It wasn't like what  _Jazz_  had done, but he got better at it.  _Not that strange since he practiced like five times a day._

Then came the longing for that delicious stretch. How he wound up searching the human internet, he would never tell, but the amount of artificial self service equipment for humans was processorblowing. And he was left envious of the inconsequential organics, because  _why the frag didn't Cybertronians have those things?!_

Taking a page out of the humans' book,  _the squishies were ridiculously creative when it came to improvising self service toys out of everyday things when they didn't have the real deal at servo,_  he resorted to sneaking around, searching for things to use instead, subspacing things to avoid weird looks. A spare muzzle for a blaster was smooth and the right size and was the best thing he'd found so far. It lacked the give a real spike had, but it would have to do. What was most uncomfortable was how cold it was. When the Saleen started preheating it in hot solvent, he wondered if he was putting  _too_  much work into his incessant self servicing. He refused to think about how pathetic he would find it, should another mech be the one to behave like this.

The washracks were always empty in the mornings. It provided a good opportunity for Barricade to blow off some steam before he went about the mission of the day. It became routine. Maybe that's why he let his guard down enough to not notice a mech approaching. The door slid open, but he was too focused on his own frame to notice before an EM field grazed the edge of his.

He abruptly onlined his optics, startled. Blackout was towering over him where he sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs spread wide and the blaster part shoved into his valve, digits stroking his anterior node.

The Helicopter cocked his helm, face unreadable. Barricade was frozen, mortified. He tried to cover himself with his servos, the blaster sliding out and falling to the floor with a loud clatter. The Mustang felt himself flush with an embarrassed rush of energon.

"This looks...  _interesting_." Blackout leered.

"I... uhm." Barricade floundered.

Because what could he say? It was obvious what he was doing. He knew what Blackout would want, because nobot ever offered their valves, and probably never played with them either. The Helo would see this as an invitation.  _And would that be such a bad thing?_ He was frustrated and wanted to be fragged. Blackout wasn't bad looking.  _Why_   _not_?

"Wanna 'face?" He stuck out his chin plate defiantly, as if he wasn't embarrassed by this.

Blackout didn't answer. He grabbed the small grounder and flipped him, Barricade winding up on his elbows and knees with a huge servo on his neck. He heard the sound of plating sliding away and he was suddenly a little anxious. He'd prepped himself already, but how big would Blackout be?

It wasn't going anything like what he had fantasized about, where he was licked and fingered until he was writhing before he was entered. He tensed when the tip of Blackout's spike nudged his folds, slipping inside. At least he was slick enough and Blackout didn't ram it in violently, but pushed inside with a slow but unrelenting move. The stretch was bordering on too much, but at least the Helicopter's spike wasn't ridged and the smoothness helped his valve accommodate the massive equipment.

Blackout's spike was long and hit his ceiling node and the Saleen cried out in a mix of pleasure and discomfort but it didn't stop there. The Helicopter kept going, pushing in deeper and Barricade panted harshly, forcing himself to relax to be able to take the spike as deeply as Blackout was going. He was about to plead for him to stop, discomfort turning to pain, when he felt Blackout grind against his aft, finally hilted, and Barricade took small, shallow invents to try to adjust to the intrusion. Then the Helo started to pull out again, relief from the pressure on his ceiling node combining with the slide over his other nodes to turn into pleasure. He gasped, partially in relief.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you? Filthy little pleasuremech." Blackout growled.

It was degrading and not at all arousing like the dirty talk Jazz engaged in, and Barricade didn't answer.

Starting to thrust in earnest now, it was obvious that the larger 'Con was chasing his own overload and Barricade soon realized that he wouldn't reach his without working himself. He reached between his legs and rubbed his node frantically, trying to make use of the penetration lacking all finesse but providing stretch nonetheless.

Above him, Blackout roared his release and Barricade felt the Helicopter's erratic thrusting pushing the transfluid out around his spike. The Saleen pinched his node and overloaded, not as deeply and framenumbingly good as he fantasized about, but it was what he got.

Blackout pushed him off of his spike, making Barricade's face scrape the floor with the forward momentum. He was entirely unprepared and didn't have time to catch himself. The Helo grabbed his leg and lifted him a bit, looking at his valve with bright optics and Barricade realized that the bastard probably  _recorded_  it, dripping lubricant and transfluid. The 'Copter pushed two fingers into him and pumped a couple of times and Barricade was about to protest, because enough was enough, but Blackout spoke before he could start his vocalizer.

"Nice! We should do this again sometime." 

_Or not._

The massive 'Con stood, closing his panel without even wiping himself down. He would wear the lubricant and transfluid proudly, as a statement that he had fragged somebot. He made a mock salute and took his leave without another word.

Barricade stood, starting the solvent. There was just no way  _he'd_  leave here advertising what happened with dirty chassis. And the worst part was that it hadn't even been all that good. But now he had tried it and knew that not all valve interfacing was fantastic. He could see why valve mechs were such a rare occurrence in the Decepticon ranks. Who would want  _this_  on a regular basis?

Or maybe he was just picky after having somebot as good as Jazz. Because that mech clearly knew what he was doing. Barricade had learned quite a lot too, but since none of the 'Cons would let him anywhere near their valves, it was a moot point. He definitely wouldn't offer himself up just to try to teach the others!

_Self service, it was to be._

 

*****

 

Until when late one evening, the rare high grade warming his tanks and buzzing his circuitry, it just wasn't enough anymore.

The call was placed before he even finished the process and when it was picked up he still hadn't fully realized that he was actually calling.

"H'llo."

"I...uhm...Jazz? It's Barri...eh, your  _friendly_ neighborhood cop?"

Better at least try to talk in code, in case  _somebot_ , Barricade sent a mindglare in Soundwave's supposed direction, was eavesdropping.

The mech managed to snort over the comm.

"Mo' like tha horny, monochromatic gun turret. Don' worry, tha line's safe. Now what can I do ya for?"

Barricade found himself vocalizer tied when the mech on the other end joked so smoothly. As if they knew each other, as if they weren't from different sides of the war.

"Uhm, mostly wanted to talk? I think. Check if you're alright."

It was lame and he knew it, but it wasn't like he had a script for a call like this and he hadn't even had a plan what this was supposed to lead to. And he still wasn't comfortable saying what he really wanted.

"Mhm." The mech had definitely seen through it.

"Yeah, it's just... I kind of thought about you the other day and I... Got curious?"  _Lame_.  _Lame-o, thy name is Barricade._

"So wha' were ya thinkin'?"

Barricade flushed, because _fragging pit_  if he was going to tell Jazz that he'd fantasized about being fragged six ways from Sunday.

"Were ya thinkin' 'bout mah spike slidin' into yer tight li'l valve, ya ridin' meh like a rodeo champion straddlin' a buckin' bronco? Or maybe mah glossa lappin' at yer anterior node 'til  _all_  yer optics glitch." Jazz's voice was laced with a wicked smile.

Barricade's cooling fans roared to life, even though he was mortified. Jazz had a talent for embarrassing the Saleen with just words.  _But this was wildly arousing, unlike what Blackout had said._

"I didn't...what? No, how did... Maybe?" He sputtered.

The laugh that reached his audials over the comm was pure sin, deep and rich and full of promise of hours of pedecurling pleasure. That laugh alone made Barricade's valve weep enough lubricant to leak through the seams of his panel.

"Was tha' while ya self serviced in tha washracks?"

"How the frag did you know that?!" He hissed.

"Ah-ah. A good spy won' tell tha enemy his secrets, now would I? I'll tell ya though, tha' li'l show of yers made meh so hard 'n' charged I hadta jerk off m'self."

He shivered, partially because it was alarming that Jazz somehow  _knew_ , and that really should've been his main concern as it cemented his conviction that Jazz was incredibly dangerous and had managed to infiltrate the base. He should've taken this information straight to Soundwave. But he didn't.

Mostly, he found that the shiver was from arousal from knowing he'd been watched.  _And wasn't that a kink he hadn't known he had?_

"So, is it jus' phone sex ye're after, or didya think 'bout hookin' up 'n' fuckin' fer real?"

Barricade had to look up phone sex on the human internet to know what it was.

"Wasn't really thinking? I don't know..."

He was pinged with a set of coordinates. A warehouse it seemed when he checked a map.

"40 minutes. Be there or 'm gonna find ya 'n' drag ya there mehself."

The connection disengaged.  _Did he just get ordered to come get fragged by an Autobot?_  He was still reeling.  _That was fast and not what he had been aiming for._  He wasn't complaining, though.

 

*****

 

The interceptor transforms and walks into the warehouse exactly 40 minutes later, wiping off a smear of polish he's missed in his haste.

He looks around, but finds no evidence of the Autobot being there and for a few seconds, he's certain that he's been played. The Decepticon decides to wait, what he knows of Autobot culture tells him that it might be trickier for Jazz to disappear without anybot questioning it. 

He walks around, checking the place and does a double check of his signal dampener.  _Better safe than sorry._  The warehouse holds nothing of interest to him and he checks his chronometer.

Five minutes late. How long can he wait before it's crossing the line to  _pathetic_? Barricade is half charged already, an annoying tingling along his circuitry. He bites his glossa.  _Why did he think this was a good idea again?_  The Bot probably won't show up. The Saleen almost growls. This is a new kind of embarrassment and one he doesn't care to know of.

Irritated, because that's his go-to reaction to cover up feelings like that, he pushes out a scan to look for a signature. He should be able to pick up at least a small reading, his sensors are really good.

_Nothing._

"Frag it." He growls to himself and turns to leave.

He's entirely unprepared, and warbles in surprise, when something heavy lands on top of him, twisting like some sort of cyberserpent and rolls him to the floor. He lands less heavy than he should, thanks to the thing sort of saving him from it with impossible moves and when the dust clears, he finds himself straddled by a very smug little Autobot. Jazz has him by the neckcables with one servo, the other pinning Barricade's servos to the floor above his helm.

"Where d'ya think ye're goin'?" Jazz smirks.

"Slagger! Thought you wouldn't show up."

"Nah, not my style. Jus' hadta make sure ya came alone."

"Of course I did."

Jazz lets go of his neck to tap a sharp talon on Barricade's purple faction insignia, placed on a plate partially obscured by his chest plate.

" _Decepti_ con, remember? I'm fearless, not mindless." Jazz winks half his visor.

Barricade has no answers to that, realizing  _he's_  the one being reckless. He had been pretty certain that the Autobot wouldn't be able to hide reinforcements here, Barricade's sensors should pick that up, and so he felt safe when he came here. 

But the Bot is even stealthier than he thought, he's coming to realize, and he's convinced that the mech is as dangerous as they come all on his own. If he wanted Barricade offline, he'd be sitting on a graying frame right now, probably with a smile on his face. It's oddly reassuring and he relaxes. Jazz wants him online. For now, at least.

Jazz watches him for a few moments longer and seems to come to a decision. He straightens, letting his servos trail over Barricade's plating. The Saleen shudders as charge travels down his wiring. Jazz's grin broadens as he leans back, ghosting talons along the seam to the Interceptor's interface plate.

"Ya really 're wet already. Care ta tell me wah?"

"I  _want_  you. In me, on me,  _anything."_ Barricade hisses. 

He's still not comfortable telling the explicit version, but this he can say without embarrassment now.  _What is the Autobot turning him into?_

Talons dipping in further in his seams has his interface plate popping and sliding away of it's own accord, lubricant that has been pooling there running down to stain the ground under his aft. His spike pressurises too, and he's a little embarrassed by that, both by his lack of control and his spike. It isn't modified or flashy in any way.

Jazz turns around to have a look as his digits drag over the underside of the Decepticon's spike and Barricade mewls as it twitches from the touch.

"Now  _tha' '_ sa a pretty piece o' equipment." Jazz says appreciatively.

Barricade doesn't know how to answer that, so he just draws a shaky intake when Jazz toys with the tip of his spike. The Autobot moves down to kneel between Barricade's legs. The Mustang spreads his legs wider and bends his knees, giving Jazz full access to his array.

He bucks when Jazz's clever glossa snakes into his valve, wriggling around in a way a spike can't and the Interceptor mewls.  _He's already close._

The spy licks a line along his slit, the nudge on his node making him squirm for more, and continues up the underside of his spike. By now, Barricade shouldn't be surprised, but he is. Nobot has ever done anything like it to him before, and he almost overloads instantly when the tip of his spike is sucked into Jazz's intake.

He manages to hold back, barely, and his optics fritz by the effort it takes when Jazz swirls his glossa around Barricade's spike. It's such a dirty act, at least he's always thought about it that way, such a deeply rooted powerplay fantasy among the 'Cons, that he has never even considered that somebot might do it willingly, but it's fairly obvious that Barricade has no control whatsoever over this and it's clearly consensual on the Autobot's part. It throws him for a loop, but then Jazz sucks him deeper into his intake and Barricade's talons scrabble over the concrete floor as his processor goes blank.

"I'm gonna..." He warbles, because somehow he manages to realize that he wouldn't want anybot spilling transfluid down his throat without a warning. Should he ever do this _._   _He'll probably do this_.

Jazz just hums an acknowledgement and slides two digits into Barricade's valve, curling them and flicking his node with another digit at the same time. Another swirl of his glossa is the only thing needed and Barricade overloads so hard, his vocalizer screeches before it cuts out. 

He feels the constriction as Jazz swallows and he's squirming around, hypersensitive, until his entire frame falls limp. Jazz licks the tip of his spike one last time and crawls up to stretch out draped along Barricade's lax frame.

"That was...  _Frag_!" The Mustang has no words for it.

"First time?" Jazz asks into his neckcables, smile in his voice.

"Yes."

"Mah poor li'l 'Con, never had anybot showin' ya tha better things in life."

Jazz's talons slide restlessly along seams in plating as Barricade recovers.  _He can't really disagree with Jazz._ It  _is_  a fragging shame that it has taken this long to discover what kind of pleasure can be had. And he's still learning. Just this morning, he still would never have even considered sucking a spike, the act too submissive, too closely connected with force and degradation in his processor.

It is ridiculous, really. He has had his valve licked and spiked and he loved _that._  Why would this be any different? If the acts are consensually offered, it has nothing to do with power or rank. Just pleasure.  _He really likes pleasure._  With his mind free from the haze the heat had created last time, he is even more curious to try out new stuff. 

With his hydraulic pressure returning, he turns Jazz over, the spy rolling off him willingly. Barricade bites and licks his way down the silver frame under him, teasing wires with slender talons.

"I'm...ah, I don't really know what I'm doing." He confesses, because he doesn't want the Autobot to find him inadequate without an explanation.

"Keep doin' that, i's a  _really_  good start." Jazz groans.

The Autobot's interface plate isn't open when Barricade reaches it and he hesitates for a fraction of a second. His own plate slides away uncontrollably with this kind of touch and he wonders if he isn't good enough. A lick to the plate tells him differently; it's hot to the touch and Jazz's fans kick up a notch. The mech's a tease and experienced enough to control his frame better than Barricade. Of course he'll make the Saleen work for it.

Teasing the seam with his glossa and talons is soon rewarded with the plating sliding away, revealing a glistening valve, plump with arousal. He's never taken time to really appreciate a valve before, so he stops to look. Jazz's valve is really pretty, plush looking folds, softly lit by blue and green LEDs, his anterior node glowing brighter than the rest.  _It looks edible._

He swipes his glossa along the slit nervously, not sure what to expect, a little apprehensive about it being disgusting.  _It isn't._  The flavor is thick and sweet and tangy in an arousing way and the sound Jazz makes is fit for a fragvid.  _It's extremely encouraging._  Barricade licks and sucks and wriggles his glossa inside, eager to get more of everything. Jazz is moaning and writhing, bucking his hips and the Mustang wants nothing more than to bring the 'Bot to overload. He can finally see why Jazz seems so fixated with bringing him pleasure; watching the other unravel is delicious, delirious, intoxicating.

He pulls his glossa out to lap at the node, pushing two digits into the clenching valve, but then, on a whim, he pauses. It draws a frustrated whine from the Spy splayed on the floor.

"Do you want to overload,  _Autobot_?" Barricade purrs.

Jazz's answer is just an unintelligible whine.

"You need me to continue? To relieve your charged circuits? You need to fraternize with a filthy ' _Con_  to get you off, hm?"

"Yes!  _Please_  don't stop,  _Decepticon_. Make my audials crackle with release." Jazz hisses.

He couldn't stop the smirk stretching his intake if he wanted to, because he can see why Jazz finds this so amusing.  It's a heady feeling, having somebot begging for you, but this way is even more interesting than the pleading happening during interrogation and torture, because any mech can hurt another mech, granted that some are more effective at it. 

This though,  _this_  takes true skills, because you can't brute force pleasure and if you're lousy, there will be no pleading. There's a very delicate balance of power, shifting back and forth, in this game and the subtleties of it is intriguing to the Interrogator trained in psychology and reading tiny shifts in behavior and body language. 

And the desperate little mewls and whimpers he's drawing from Jazz are simply delicious. He's slowly sliding his digits in and out of the Speedster's valve and Jazz is squirming to get more. Barricade wonders if he would be allowed to spike the mech, but that thought is pushed away. He's here because he wants to get a spike in his valve. The Autobot's spike cover is still in place, though.

He laps at the cover and Jazz bucks his hips but the cover remains closed. Barricade pulls his digits out to focus his attentions to the housing, slipping his talons in along seams to tickle wires hidden beneath while he laps at the cover. The shape of his intake doesn't allow him to suck the cover, but it doesn't matter; the cover slides away and Jazz's impressive spike pressurises quickly. Pre-transfluid is glistening on the tip and the Saleen tentatively licks it. The taste is a little bitter and salty but not unpleasant and he licks a firm line along the bottom of the spike before grabbing it with his servo, carefully monitoring Jazz for signs of discomfort. He has self serviced, and knows how he likes to handle his own spike, but that doesn't mean that Jazz likes the same things.

"Tell me if I do something you don't like."

It doesn't even make him pause that he says it, he doesn't even think about how odd it is that he would stop immediately if asked. This game of push and pull, of give and take is all about a type of consent that he has been unfamiliar with up until Jazz, but that makes it feel all the more right. He can see the difference.

Barricade's glossa is long and nimble and he wraps it around Jazz's spike, bobbing his helm to stroke along the ridged length. He sets one process at his transformation sequences and it doesn't take long before he feels his sharp denta folding flat to create a more lipplate like surface, smooth and pliable.

He sucks the spike into his intake. Jazz bucks and his vocalizer crackles. Barricade takes it as deep as he can, swirling his glossa.

"Damn! If this is stuff ya don't know how ta do, I wanna see tha things ya  _do_  know."

Barricade hums, but he's kind of certain that Jazz won't be interested in the things he knows. It's mostly pain and manipulation. His valve starts dripping when he thinks of Jazz tying him to an interrogation table, teasing him until he's begging.  _Or maybe tying Jazz up..._

"I want this inside me." He says, indicating Jazz's spike with a slow lick.

"Hop on, I'm ready." 

Jazz's cockiness is somewhat ruined by the crackling of his vocalizer, but Barricade isn't one to call him out on it or tease him more. On the contrary, the Interceptor is about three seconds from whining in desperate need and he straddles the Autobot, grinding his dripping valve against that hard spike before sinking down on it in one go. He shudders, plating flaring with pleasure, when he grinds against Jazz's plating, the spike inside him rubbing gloriously against all his charged up nodes.

"Oh Primus,  _yes_!" Barricade hisses.

"Tha name's still  _Jazz_..." The Autobot growls.

"I don't exactly think you're in a position to make demands..." Barricade smirks and starts to lift off the spike.  _He can be a tease too._

"Is tha' so?" 

Barricade's answer is cut off when Jazz flicks his anterior node. Unprepared, his knees fold to hilt himself again with a new indecent sound leaving his vocalizer. Jazz grins triumphantly when Barricade throws his helm back and mewls, grinding against Jazz before overloading. 

"Jazz!" He warbles without even thinking about it, digging his talons into Jazz's plating.

"That's my good li'l 'Con." Jazz croons smugly.

Barricade isn't prepared when Jazz rolls them and the Mustang ends up on his back, wriststruts pinned beside his helm by the Autobots strong servos, spike still hilted in his valve. The position, leaving him at the mercy of the Autobot isn't worrying,  _like it should be_ , but arousing and he spreads his legs more.

"So,  _Decepticon,_  ya like havin' tha' wet li'l valve of yers filled by an  _Autobot_? That's a li'l kinky, don'cha think? Wha' would that others say if they knew ya spread yer legs for tha enemy? Tha' ya scream my name when ya overload?"

Barricade shivers. That first time, when he was in heat, it was a mistake, it just happened. But now, it is premeditated. He'd called the Autobot to get fragged.  _It's arousing_. Forbidden in a delicious way, dangerous as it is.

"Yes! I want your spike in me until I scream your designation. I want to be forced to beg and plead for you to let me overload."

Jazz chuckles darkly.

"Kinky li'l 'Con. Can't be tha' hard ta find a Con tha' likes a submissive mech, tha' wanna make ya beg. So wha're ya  _here?_ "

Barricade flounders. It's so hard to process when Jazz is sliding slowly in and out of his valve. But no Con would make him beg like this, would worship his frame and still torture him with denial. They'd take their own pleasure and be done with it.

"Because I like getting _fucked_  by an Autobot. I want to sneak out and make myself a traitor on a filthy floor with you. They can't frag me like you do! You make me overload so good, you appreciate my frame."

"'N' such a pretty frame it is!" 

Jazz leans down and Barricade meets him in the kiss, hungry like a starving turbofox. The Saleen wraps his legs around the Autobot, trying to get him closer, deeper, anything. Jazz pushes in deep with slow thrusts, grinding his pelvic plate against Barricade's anterior node when he bottoms out. It's oddly tender and sweet but still arousing. Barricade's vents hitch.

"I'm gonna..." He mewls.

"Yeah,  _cum_ for me Barricade."

He does, slowly tipping over the edge with deep, hard, almost lazy rhythmic contractions of his valve. His backstrut arches of its own accord. Jazz groans and bites down on a cable in his neck when he overloads. Barricade's legs falls out to the side, and he's pretty certain that his grin is dopey. He trails his digits along Jazz's plating, mapping out every seam, every joint, committing it to memory. They lay there in silence for a while, cooling frames ticking.

"Wha'  _would_  tha' Cons do if they knew?" Jazz asks, voice serious.

It forces Barricade out of his post-interface glow and it's most unwelcome. He likes it here, doesn't want to think about the possible consequences of his actions. When he was in heat, that gave him plausible deniability. Now though, he's very much a traitor. It should be a sobering thought, should make him up and run  _now_. It doesn't. But the thought brings about the realization that he may not be able to do this again. It makes him even more certain that he's going to savor it all the more, wring as much out of this time as he possibly can. He's safe here. The Cons won't find them, Jazz can keep them safe for now. He's sure about that.

"I'd be labeled a traitor. Don't know what they'd do, depends on Megatron's mood, I suppose. Deactivate me. Torture me. Use me for a pleasuredrone." The last one seems the worst to Barricade. 

Jazz gags.

"What about you?" Barricade is curious about how the Bots would deal with it.

"Bumblebee would'na talk ta me fer a week, at least. Ratch would use meh fo' target practice with his wrenches, 'm sure. Hide would pro'ly punch meh in tha helm and then go blow somethin' up. Sideswipe would go 'Eew! Did you pitch or catch? Eew! Is he tight?' or somethin' like tha'. Optimus would speechify. Fer a  _long_  time. Sigh a lot. Rub his helm. And then he'd try ta gemme ta get ya ta defect." Jazz chuckles, a sound of affection for his quirky comrades.

To Barricade, it seems impossible that the faction Jazz is talking about could possibly have survived this far into the war, let alone defeat the Decepticons in so many battles.  _On the other servo, the mech stretched out at his side seems like a happy-go-lucky mech without a care in the world at first glance, but all evidence points to him being very dangerous._ The appearance of an Autobot might be as deceptive as any Con, he's coming to realize.

His train of thought derails with a horrible crash when Jazz's palm rubs his spike housing.

"Are you insatiable?" 

"Close ta." Jazz chuckles. "Yer frame is very tempting. 'N' I got some high drive codin' left. Was an...  _entertainer_  before tha war."

_Jazz had been a pleasurebot._  The admission is dismaying. The mech is doing this as a compulsion. It puts a halt to his rising charge, something he would think about later. He'd never cared about his partners' genuine interest before.

"So this is just your code craving to go through the motions?" 

"Primus,  _no_! I had tha' codin' tweaked a long time ago. I kept mah skillz 'n' mah interest in facin'. Still got an open mind fer tha more...  _adventurous_ requests. But I only frag those I wanna frag, not anybot askin'." Jazz looks him in the optics before making a point of sweeping his optics over Barricade's frame with a lascivious grin. "Yer jus' too hot ta pass up on."

He keeps on rubbing Barricade's housing while sliding the digits of his other hand into his own valve. It isn't long before the Saleen's spike is fully pressurized again, the sight of the Autobot working himself having Barricade's fans roaring to life.

"Okay if I ride ya?" Jazz asks.

"Yes." Barricade's voice is strained.

He still cantc quite believe it when the Autobot slowly slides down his shaft, the tight heat almost too much.

"Primus, you feel so good." He groans.

"Ah-ah, wha's mah name?" Jazz starts to lift up again.

"Jazz! Jazz, you're Jazz! Frag it,  _Jazz,_  you're so tight and wet and..." His voice cuts out when he's finally hilted.

Jazz rides him slowly and the Mustang can't look away from where they are joined, where his spike slides in and out of that valve, lubricant glistening. It's like no other coupling he's ever had before, the wanton moans from the Autobot driving him on. He rubs his thumb over Jazz's node and the Speedster throws his helm back and warbles, unashamed of his pleasure.

"Yeah, jus' like tha'! Make meh cum on yer hard spike, ' _Con._ "

Barricade almost overloads from those words. He manages to hold back and flicks Jazz's node. The Spy overloads, valve clenching down, lubricant dribbling out. But Jazz isn't done. As soon as his overload winds down, he gets on his knees and servos, turning his aft to Barricade

"See how wet I am for ya? How ready I am for ya ta load me up?" He wriggles his hips.

Barricade looks at Jazz's valve, lubricant dripping down the mech's legs, valve lips plump and biolights bright with arousal. He slips two digits into the welcoming heat and groans.

"Please, 'Con,  _fuck_ me!" 

He doesn't need to be asked twice. Nudging the 'Bot's knees apart with his own, he grabs Jazz's hips and pushes in hard, certain that Jazz can take him.

"Is that what you want?  _Decepticons_  fragging you until you walk funny?" He growls.

"Only  _you_ , ya filthy, fraggin' 'Con. Load me up really good!" Jazz mewls.

He pounds hard into the slick valve but remembers his own mishap with Blackout and is determined not to make the same mistake. He reaches around to stimulate Jazz's node and earns a pleasured cry for the effort before the Autobot overloads hard, sinking down on his elbows. It tips Barricade over as well and he slams in hard with a growl, spilling his transfluid deep inside Jazz before he collapses over the prone Spy.

Jazz slides down on his front, Barricade sprawled on top of him. None of them move for quite a while, giving Barricade's processors time to regain coherency. He's thinking about this, how he wants more of it. But there's risks involved.

"So, what happens now?"

"'M gonna regain hydraulic pressure, then 'm gonna frag ya inta the wall." 

It sidetracks Barricade, as he tries to figure out how the Bot plans to do that before he mentally shakes himself.  _Get your helm out of the gutter._

"I mean this...  _illicit affair_  of ours."

"I wanna have more. But it's up to ya, yer tha one in danger."

"Then more you shall have."

Jazz snorts at how he words it and Barricade grins into the silver mech's shoulder plating, digits roaming the powerful frame under him. Their fields mingle, relaxed and smooth. 

"I should have recorded my spike sliding into you." He blurts.

Jazz laughs, pure amusement and no judgement, no affront and then he hums but doesn't say anything. Barricade thinks about it, the way Jazz begs to be spiked but still is the one in control. The Interceptor has no problem with following his lead. On the contrary; it's arousing to be made to submit and he trusts Jazz, at least when it comes to this. He have no doubts about if he did become uncomfortable, the Bot would stop. His fans dial up when he thinks about being tied up and teased until he can't take it, until Jazz decides to give him what he needs.  _Surrender_.

"I can feel both arousal 'n' embarrassment in yer field. What'cha thinkin' 'bout? It seems fun..." Jazz is perceptive.

_He can't say it._  It's still too embarrassing, too  _kinky._

"I...uh... raincheck? Don't dare to tell you..." 

"Jus'a hint?  _Please._ "

"I like it when you take command. When you're dominant. When you talk dirty."

Jazz hums, contemplating what was admitted and slips his digits into Barricade's valve. The Interceptor gasps, wondering how it's even possible that his frame wants more.

"Then I think ye're gonna like this..."

He gets up from the floor, pulling the Saleen with him with a strong servo around his wriststrut. He tugs Barricade with him to the wall and before the Decepticon can react, he's pushed front first against the concrete, his arm wrenched up on his back. The grip is enough to render him unable to do anything without straining the joint but not painful as is.

"Tell me if ya don' like it. Pulse yer field, anything. I'll stop." Jazz whispers.

Barricade nods his understanding, tense about what's about to happen.

"So, li'l ' _Con_ , here ya're, runnin' 'roun' with ya platin' open. A Bot might think y'all is  _easy._  Might think ya wanna get  _fucked._ " Jazz growls.

"I'm not easy!" Barricade hisses.

Digits slips into Barricade's valve and he groans, almost grinding down on the servo. Jazz tuts.

"So wet 'n' needy, jus' waitin' fer any spike ta fill ya."

Barricade growls when the digits are removed, frustrated and charged.

"None o' tha',  _Decepticon_. Ya get what ya deserve."

One digit.  _One_  single digit pushes in to the first knuckle and swirls around, teasing his nodes with frustratingly light pressure. Barricade whines.

"Huh. Would'ya look at tha'? Ye're drippin' all over mah floor. Like a little piece o'  _shareware_. Ya gonna start beggin' to get spiked or somethin'?"

In reality, that's exactly what he wants to do. He can see his lubricant staining the floor and the stimulation Jazz is offering is just nowhere near enough. And the game Jazz is playing is making his charge rise quickly. The words by themselves are degrading, but he knows they're not true, not what Jazz thinks in reality and so he finds it arousing.

"I won't beg,  _Autobot_!" 

He can play this game too, wants to play it. And he's stubborn and prideful by creation, this is a role made for him.

"Yeah, ya  _will_. Like tha li'l pleasurebot ya are.  _Look at you_. Panels open fer all n sundry, all charged up 'n' messy, still drippin' transfluid from yer last frag."

Barricade moans. It's slightly embarrassing,  _and that's oddly arousing_ , but Jazz's description is accurate, that's exactly how he looks right now. The digits slides inside all the way, swirling around to ghost tantalizing sensation over his nodes.

Barricade gasps and pushes back but Jazz just follows the motion, easily holding the much needed friction out of reach for the Saleen. 

"So very needy, li'l 'Con." Jazz purrs.

Barricade whines in frustration when the Autobot starts slipping that single digit in and out with an agonizingly slow pace, sometimes pulling out all the way to flick the sensitive anterior node. His hips are jerking uncontrollably by now, but he won't resort to begging just yet.

Jazz plays his frame expertly, quickly bringing him close to overload, just to back off in the last second, letting Barricade wind down, just to immediately start all over again, getting his charge coil ever higher.

It's agonizing and wonderful and Barricade wants it to never end as much as he wants to be brought over the edge. Charge is crackling over his plating, and his resolve crumbles when Jazz manages to get him so close his valve clamps around nothing once, before stopping.

"Please, Autobot, I-I want you."

"Want me for what? Come on, Barricade, tell me."

"I want you to  _fuck_  me. Strip my gears, make me wear your paint transfers and dents for _days_. Spike me so hard, I see pixels."

"My, ya really  _are_  easy."

Barricade doesn't have time to come up with a retort. Jazz swings him around and hooks his arms under Barricade's thighs. The Interceptor puts his arms around Jazz's neck to steady himself as the Spy lifts him and slides in to the hilt in one smooth move. The angle allows deep penetration and Barricade squeals when his ceiling node is touched in a delicious way.

Jazz growls into his shoulder, nipping and licking at every cable he can reach and it pulls an indecent moan from the Mustang.

" _Yes_ , Jazz!  _More_! Fuck me into the wall!" Barricade urges him on.

The Autobot picks up the pace and slams in hard, the power behind every thrust making their pelvic plating collide with harsh sounds of metal on metal.

Barricade is racing towards the edge, no longer able to say anything coherent, clawing at Jazz's shoulders, and the Saboteur's fans are roaring on full blast. The Interceptor's entire frame stills and stiffens when he finally falls over the edge in a hard overload that pulls Jazz with him. The Autobot pushes in deep, hips stuttering as he bites down on one of Barricade's neckstruts.

They sink to the floor in a pile when Jazz's gives in to the exertion and for a few minutes, none of them move.

Jazz is the first to do something, as usual, and he rearranges them to lay more comfortably before going limp again, snuggled up close to the Decepticon.

It's really strange that he doesn't find anything wrong with this softer,  _many 'Cons would say weak,_  kind of thing to do. Jazz is many things, but weak, he's not. 

The intimacy pauses like this brings feels even more right after what they just did, as if reassuring each other that they both were ok with the parts they played, the game in itself. Barricade experimentally slides a servo down the plating of the Silver mech. It feels as nice to do it as receiving the same kind of touch, relaxing and soothing and at the same time grounding. They're both here because they want to be.

His optics lock with Jazz's visor and he tries to get something out of the unreadable mech.  _He'd probably be a nightmare to interrogate._  Barricade almost shudders, hoping beyond hope that he will never ever be forced to interrogate Jazz.

The silence stretches out, but it's not uncomfortable. The Saleen wonders if Jazz is stalling too. He's ready to go, frame fully operational after his overload, but he doesn't really want to.  _Not yet._  It's easy to stay here, to pretend that reality is nothing but fiction, that this isn't wrong, that this isn't treason, and he wonders if Jazz thinks the same.

But eventually they have to leave. Dawn is breaking over the horizon when they leave the warehouse.

"Call me anytime, mah lines 're secure." Jazz says.

"Well, now you have my comm. You can call me too."

Jazz smiles and nods before leaning closer, a servo behind Barricade's neck. The Interceptor easily follows his lead, meeting the Spy's lipplates with his own, their glossas sliding languorously against each other's. When they finally break apart, Jazz hums in contentment, a slow smile quirking his intake.

"See ya aroun',  _Barricade."_  He purrs in a voice that has the Decepticon's spark spinning faster.

_Oh yes, they will definitely see each other again._


End file.
